He flashed me a charming smile. “At least I do it with morals and respect your boundaries.”

  “Stalking, morals, and boundaries don’t belong in the same book, never mind the same sentence,” I retorted dryly.

  “You like me stalking you, Amara. You just don’t want to admit it.”

  His confidence was hard to resist. Most men trembled when they learned of my connections to Mother Liana, my own parents, and Kian. But not Gabriel.

  He set down his silverware, his eyes never wavering and his confidence never faltering. “You’ve got that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The one that says you’re about to do something reckless and morally questionable. Are you, Amara?”

  My lips curved into a half-smile as I reached for my glass. “That’s just my face, and if I were, I certainly wouldn’t tell you.”

  He took his own wineglass between his strong fingers, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip before putting it down.

  It was dangerous how normal this moment felt. Almost as if we’d done this a thousand times.

  He leaned in slightly, voice low. “You’re not going to start more trouble here, are you, preciosa?”

  “Of course not,” I lied.

  He cocked a brow. “You’re not that good a liar.”

  I leaned back in my seat and folded my arms. “I guess I’ll need more practice, then.”

  “I like the way you move,” he said, suddenly changing subjects. “You walk like you own the world and everything in it. Confidence looks sexy on you.”

  “Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me, Santos,” I said, tilting my head.

  “It isn’t flattery if it’s true,” he stated matter-of-factly.

  “Then thank you for the compliment. You’re sexy too.” I mentally slapped myself for flirting.

  He laughed again—real this time, warm and a little dangerous. The kind of laugh that had me wondering what his mouth could do besides talk.

  “If you weren’t so damn complicated, stubborn, and related to pathologically sick twins,” he said, swirling his wine, “we could’ve ruled a small country by now. We could be living like royalty. Be the kind of force nobody has ever seen.”

  I raised a brow. “Just one country? You dream small for a man with such big… ambition.”

  “You don’t believe in humility, do you?”

  “I believe in theatrics. And right now, I’m giving you drama and tension… I mean, this is practically a Shakespearean play.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, heat suddenly plummeting to the spot between my thighs.

  “Let’s toast to that,” he announced, and we clinked glasses. He took a long drink. So did I. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. “To theatrics and betrayal.”

  I tensed, my instincts flaring. But no, he couldn’t possibly know of my plans. I was just being paranoid.

  “So, what’s next for you?” he asked. “Another city or jungle you can get lost in? Or will you strictly stick to the seas?”

  “By the way, have you shared the fact that I have a boat with anyone?”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Are you asking me if I told your family?”

  I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

  “No, Amara, I didn’t. After all, that’s your business.”

  I smiled, hiding my relief. “Yes, it is. Still, I appreciate your discretion.”

  He leaned forward, interest flickering in his eyes. “Are you hiding things from your family?”

  “No,” I said, lying shamelessly before I asked, “Are you?”

  His smile twitched, then faded. “I’m protecting my family from certain things, so yes, you could say I’m hiding some things from them.”

  “Like what?”

  He didn’t answer, but the way he watched me—eyes sharp with knowing—only deepened my suspicion. It made me want to squirm in my seat, but I held myself rigid, refusing to give in to the urge.

  “Do you want to get out of here?” I asked suddenly, my voice low and husky, heart pounding like a drum against my ribs.

  The scrape of his chair was all the answer I needed. He tossed a stack of bills onto the table and held out his hand.

  I hesitated—just a flicker—before I placed my fingers in his firm and steady hand.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when I didn’t stand up immediately.

  “I’m fine,” I ground out, rising from my seat. We moved through the restaurant together, the low thrum of music and laughter dimming behind us.

  Outside, the air was thick and electric, the city lights painting the sky. The harbor glistened in the distance, quiet and waiting.

  My gaze flicked to the dark alley a block from the restaurant. I had studied the area well before I met him tonight—mapping out every street, alley, exit—and I knew that alley would be the best place to carry out my plan.

  His hand was still in mine as I led him toward it. He followed without question. Neither one of us spoke, but with every step, a weight pressed heavier on my chest. There’d be no turning back from what I was about to do.

  Once we reached the mouth of the alley, he finally broke the silence. “Now what?”

  I stopped and turned to face him. My heart thundered in my chest like it was trying to warn him.

  His eyes searched mine, waiting, almost as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.

  I rose onto my toes—slowly, deliberately—and let my mouth brush against his. His scent overwhelmed me, intoxicating every fiber of my being. As my lips pressed to his, heat rose within me and set my skin on fire.

  It was just a whisper of a kiss. Barely there. But it was enough to feel the heat of him, the pull, the history we never had. One second, two seconds… or was it minutes? I wasn’t sure because time slowed and the pulse drummed in my ears violently.

  A heaviness settled between my legs just as his breath hitched, caught between surprise and instinct.

  He didn’t move or pull away.

  His gaze burned as I gripped his forearms, eyes locked on his. He looked at me like I was his woman, but I wasn’t just that. I was the woman who was about to rewrite every line in his story.

  There was something fragile and fierce in that gaze. It was the look of a man who understood that whatever came next wasn’t just a choice, but a turning point. A moment carved out of fate and fire.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered against his lips, my voice softer than it had any right to be, considering what I was about to do.

  The tranq’s syringe slid from my sleeve, and I jabbed it into his neck.

  He staggered. “Amara⁠—?”

  “I got you,” I said, catching him as he crumpled into me.

  Out of the shadows stepped Elira with an attitude twice her size.

  She looked at Gabriel slumped against me, then me as she rolled her eyes.

  “You should have just gone with the poisonous lipstick,” she said. “Since you were going to be smooching and all.”

  “Stop with that stupid poisonous-lipstick crap,” I muttered, shifting his weight. “Help me get him to the boat.”

  She grabbed his legs. “You shouldn’t have let him eat. Now we have extra pounds to carry.”

  “I’m so sorry for not jabbing him with a needle in the middle of the restaurant,” I said, sarcasm lacing my tone. Guilt snaked up my chest and wrapped around my throat. This feeling was a novelty, and I hated it. “Besides, we can thank Jet. This is his doing, remember?”

  “Ah, yes, but Jet didn’t tell you to kiss him,” she pointed out.

  “It’s… complicated.”

  “I certainly hope you don’t sleep with him because that will make it even more complicated.”

  I scoffed. “Are you trying to give me ideas or warn me?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  We staggered down the dock, Gabriel dead weight between us. I nearly tripped on a broken plank.

  “Jesus,” Elira grunted. “What did he eat, cement?”

  “Regret and moral superiority, more likely.” I blew a loose piece of hair away from my face. “Honestly, I’m surprised his men aren’t around.”

  She shrugged. “He underestimated you. His mistake. But then, men are dumb, so no surprise there.”

  We finally reached the yacht and heaved him onto the deck. I turned around and faced the waterfront, searching for signs that we’d been tailed.

  Elira wiped sweat from her brow and asked, “You sure he’s not gonna wake up mid-sail and strangle you?”

  I didn’t miss a beat. “He’ll probably try.”

  Elira snorted as we dragged Gabriel’s unconscious body down the deck. “Just don’t fall for him. Hopefully he won’t develop Stockholm syndrome and fall for you. That would be… unfortunate.”

  “What the hell do you know about Stockholm syndrome?”

  “Everything,” she deadpanned. “I actually use it as a form of torture.”

  I shook my head. “Jesus, Elira. You’re so scary and criminally undervalued. I pity any man who captures your interest.”

  “Yeah.” She gave a soft, tired laugh. “Anyhow, let’s focus on you and your lover boy.”

  “He’s not my lover boy,” I corrected her, glancing her way. “We should probably cuff him just in case he does try to kill me.”

  She went quiet for a moment, our footsteps the only sound on board. We instructed the crew to keep out of sight tonight.

  “Do you think this is smart?” she asked, voice lower now, the edge fraying.

  “Probably not, but we trust Jet, and Gabriel is definitely hiding something,” I said. “Am I worried? Yeah. Every damn second.”

  Elira nodded, jaw tight.

  I shifted Gabriel’s weight, mentally going down the laundry list of my “to-dos” after I handcuff the prisoner: get supplies of clothes and toiletries, and whatever else to ensure our prisoner was somewhat comfortable. After all, he wasn’t just anyone, but the heir to the Santos Cartel.

  “I love you, sis,” she whispered, and my head whipped to her. Elira wasn’t the sentimental kind and rarely expressed her feelings.

  “And I love you,” I said softly. “You’re my favorite criminal.”

  “Wow. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Don’t get emotional. We’re still dragging two hundred pounds.”

  “I swear to God,” Elira huffed, adjusting her grip on his legs. “Next time Jet recommends we snatch someone, it better be a skinny twig of a man.”

  “Get in line.” My arms ached and my breathing heaved. “The yacht is fueled up, right?”

  “Yes, everything is ready. Supplies replenished and route set.”

  We finally entered the cabin and deposited him onto the mattress when Elira said, “I still can’t believe you kissed him.”

  “I was creating emotional dissonance and distraction. It’s a tactic.”

  “It’s a kink.”

  “Maybe.” I looked down at Gabriel, limp and silent, his breathing steady. I sighed. “Gosh, he really is so beautiful. Such a waste of triceps.”

  “Then make him yours,” Elira deadpanned. Maybe our moral compass had gone to shit over the years.

  That fleeting kiss played on loop in my mind, reliving every part of it. I’d burned many bridges in the past, but I instinctively knew this one would hurt.

  Gabriel

  Iwoke up to the gentle sway of the sea and the faint groan of a yacht cutting through dark water. For one stupid, wonderful second, I convinced myself I was hungover in some overpriced five-star suite, drowning in room service and bad decisions.

  Then the cold bite of metal pressed against my wrist pulled me back to reality, and I remembered the plan I’d set out to accomplish. My eyes snapped open, and as I tried to sit up, the sharp clink of chains rattled against the polished headboard.

  She cuffed me to the bed.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, blinking away the fog. I was anticipating kidnapping, but not damned handcuffs.

  The sheets beneath me were soft and comfortable, but the metal around my wrists definitely wasn’t. I tugged at the cuffs, testing their strength. Solid. No wiggle, no give.

  I had to hand it to her—Amara didn’t just wing this. She planned it down to the last thread.

  Too bad for her, I was already two steps ahead.

  The cabin smelled like salt, leather, and her vanilla perfume. It brought me back a few hours to the moment I captured her lips with mine. That hadn’t been part of the plan either, but hell if I was going to turn a good thing down.

  Footsteps echoed as they approached, then the creak of the cabin door sounded and the woman starring in all my fantasies stepped in holding two mugs of coffee.

  Hopefully they weren’t poisoned; you could never be certain when it came to Amara.

  I grinned like I hadn’t just woken up in a real-life episode of Kidnapped: The Sexy Edition.

  “Well, well, well,” I said. “If it isn’t Colombia’s most charming kidnapper.”

  “I was going for the world’s most charming kidnapper. Or at least South America,” she replied, raising a brow. “You’re awake.”

  “Unfortunately.” I rattled the cuffs. “Tell me—is this part of the hospitality package? Or did I accidentally sign up for the deluxe experience?”

  She set one mug on the bedside table and sipped from hers, not even blinking. It was so classically Amara, beautiful and impossible to fluster.

  “Sorry about the restraints,” she said casually. “I couldn’t risk you killing me in my sleep.”

  I barked out a laugh, the sound edged with something dangerous and not entirely sane.

  “Kill you? Amara, preciosa, I just dropped a small fortune on lobster and wine for you. The kind of lobster that comes with its own zip code. I was halfway to proposing. You could’ve just asked me to come on your yacht. You know, like a normal person.”

  She tilted her head. “Would you have told me the truth?”

  I wouldn’t have, because I couldn’t trust Amara enough. Besides, even if I did tell her everything, starting with that outrageous proposition Jet had made over eight months ago, she wouldn’t believe me.

  The bottom line was that we didn’t trust each other.

  “Would you believe anything I said?” Her expression confirmed my suspicion. “There you go. Nonetheless, I would’ve appreciated the courtesy of being asked to come to your little yacht here.”

  “I wasn’t gonna risk you turning the tables and kidnapping me, Santos.”

  “Well, I hope you thought this through and at least lined up snacks and a playlist. Something moody, with songs about betrayal and lust.”

  Her lips twitched into a near-smile. It was almost criminal how that small thing could make my heart stutter.

  “You’re taking this well,” she said, watching me with a narrowed gaze full of suspicion.

  “Sweetheart, I’ve woken up in worse places. A bathtub in Marrakesh. A meat locker in Chicago. A priest’s closet in Warsaw. Don’t ask about that one.”

  She laughed under her breath. I hated that I loved the sound of it.

  I leaned back against the pillow and studied her.

  “What’s this really about, Amara? Because this”—I raised the cuffs, letting the metal clink for emphasis—“is taking it a step too far. Although, I do kind of like it. It’s slightly erotic and quite kinky.”

  “Don’t get yourself all worked up,” she chirped, rolling her eyes. “Although you might have to work up to the erotic.”

  “Ah, you’re finally seeing things my way.” I grinned. “You keep surprising me with your flirtations.”

  She let out an incredulous breath. “You certainly see positives in everything, Santos.”

  “Wow, a compliment. Could it be you’re sorry for kidnapping me in such a manner?”

  “No.”

  Of course. I wouldn’t have expected anything else from her. “So, where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I wasn’t surprised she refused to answer.

  “So why do you need me? Am I bait? A bargaining chip? Or just a really handsome hostage you plan to snap in half?” She didn’t answer. “You know, whatever it is you’re doing, you’ve just added trouble to your résumé by kidnapping me,” I continued soberly.

  Amara nodded. “I’m well aware.”

  “Why did you kidnap me?” I asked, determined to prod for any information.

  “I’m sorry, but I need you.”

  I let out a long breath. “Of course you do, and I have a feeling it has nothing to do with needing my body and everything to do with needing something entirely different. What is it?” She remained stubbornly silent, and I continued, “Did your brother put you up to it?”

  Her lips tightened into a straight, silent line, making it clear she wouldn’t entertain any questions about Jet.

  “Are you using me for leverage to find Jet?”

  “Clearly I’m using you for something,” she answered indifferently.

  I took a deep breath, willing myself to keep my composure. It wouldn’t do me any good to get mad. The main goal was to get some answers and charm Amara. Then I’d slowly instill doubt into her siblings’ actions and she’d start seeing them for the psychopathic assholes that they were.

  “And Elira? Is she on your side or Jet’s?” I questioned, but Amara refused to take the bait. “Does this have anything to do with your siblings’ warning that I stay away from you? Is this payback?”

  Surprise flashed in her eyes. Interesting.

  “What warning?” she demanded. “What are you talking about?”

  No way that she didn’t know, yet strangely I believed her reaction to be genuine.

  “Your siblings and I crossed paths a few times,” I said slowly. “They demanded I keep my distance from you.”

  Her lips parted. “When?”

  “There’s been a couple of threats over the past few years,” I admitted.

  “They’re protective.” She shrugged, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was convincing herself more than me. “Nothing wrong with that.”